


Invisible Scars

by spectaculacularsammy



Series: Ficlets, Plaid, and Pie, OH My! [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, I feel like I could chapters upon chapters about Merri and Libby Larkspur, Sam gets massages, a brief mentioning of Gertrude Case, a brief mentioning of Jake Talley, good witches, he stabbed Sam in the middle of the back in All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1, he was one of YED's special children, herbs, not THOSE kinds of massages, she was the grabby old broad in Red Sky In The Morning who liked Sam's ass., this is my headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester’s got to have aches and pains – both of the physical, mental, emotional, and the psychic variety. This is how I imagine, in my head, he deals with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Just another ficlet inspired by the many, many things [lady_ataralasse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse/works) says to me.
> 
> The rules for our ficlets are that they're to be UNDER 1,000 words. Ironically, this was my rule. I'm breaking it. Rules, shmules. 
> 
> Also, let me know if you're interested to hear about my thoughts on Dean's aches and pains. I have a theory. :)

Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars.  
     -Khalil Gibran

-

Having done what he has for more years than he’s really cared to count, Sam Winchester has aches and pains. Sometimes he’ll get a pinched nerve in his shoulder or neck, sometimes his back is sore, or sometimes his muscles scream obscenities at him, but most times it’s the things that aren’t even there that gnaw at him the worst.

The scar isn’t even there anymore, but sometimes Sam will get this white-hot ache in the middle of his back where Jake stabbed him, all those years ago. Sometimes the ache spreads to his shoulders and his chest, and makes everything hurt in a way that just won’t let go.

One afternoon when Sam and Dean first moved into the bunker, Sam snuck out and went to see a massage therapist right there in Lebanon, but it never helped. Sure, the massage felt nice, but it they couldn’t help with scars and wounds that didn’t even exist.

Instead, Sam found Merri Larkspur.

Merri Larkspur is in her late sixties, maybe even early seventies and has this little cottage down the hill from her home. It always smells like incense and dried herbs, and there are always tea lights, votives, and tapers of various sizes burning in all corners of the little cottage. The afternoon sun streams through glass beads and crystals that hang strung on silver thread over the windows and makes the space comfortably warm.

The first time Sam went to see Merri, he knocked on her door, and he instantly knew she was a witch. Just a little niggling inside him, the same one that told him Benny was a vampire on that dock with Dean, but that same feeling inside him also instantly told him that Merri was different. Sam trusted that.

With her soft and wrinkled hands, Merri led Sam through the open room to a massage table behind a privacy screen. With her long, stark-white braid hanging down over her flowy blouse, the tied off end of her plait barely touching the waistband of her equally flowy skirt, Merri took a towel out of a cupboard and handed it to Sam.

“Make yourself at home.” She smiled kindly at him, years and years of life lived behind her eyes. “Go ahead and remove whatever clothing you’re comfortable with, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

Sam nodded his head and watched her walk around the screen. While he took off his layers of shirts, his shoes, socks, and jeans, he could hear Merri humming a little tune to herself along with the little tinkle of wind chimes outside the window.

Sam eyed the rickety massage table skeptically, not entirely sure if unsteady wood would hold him, but he still situated himself on the tiny table and uttered a silent prayer up to a God who had never answered his prayers that he wouldn’t end up on the floor. He twisted around so he could drape the towel over his boxer briefs and relaxed as much as he could on his stomach.

The table never broke.

Just a minute later, Merri came back behind the screen, her flowy skirt rusting softly, and Sam watched as she dipped her hands into a clear glass bowl of water. Herbs and pieces of wood rested down at the bottom of the crystal-looking dish, and fresh flowers floated on the surface. Once she dried off her hands, she took a vial of liquid off of a shelf, and poured herself a palm full. Sam watched Merri as she rubbed the liquid between her hands to warm it up before touching him.

Then he smelled something woodsy…

“Oak leaf for endurance, courage, and bravery,” Merri offered without Sam asking her. “Cedar for strength, and of course, lavender to calm, with just a little bit of yarrow flower for --”

“Yarrow flower?” Sam tensed and looked at Merri with suspicious eyes. Maybe he’d been wrong about her.

“Yarrow flower is used for _many_ things. Do you see a crossroad in my home?”

Sam didn’t budge.

“Yarrow flower is _also_ called ‘Soldier’s Woundwort,’ which is why you’re here, isn’t it?”  The tips of her fingers only hovered over the middle of Sam’s back, and part of the ache disappeared.

Sam instantly relaxed.

Merri’s soft fingers rubbed the woodsy and spicy smell into Sam’s shoulders, but like she knew they weren’t the true source of his tension, her hands carefully moved down his back to the scar that was invisible on his skin. Still, her fingertips just barely touched him, and Sam felt Merri’s whole body tense up. She pulled in a sharp breath and cooed sympathetic and comforting sounds softly under her breath.

“Not all scars truly fade away with time, do they?”

Sam never answered back, he just rested his head on the lavender-scented pillow. His breath came in easier while his muscles relaxed, and the white-hot pain in the middle of his back began to float away.

He was half-asleep when he felt the soft hands leave his back, and when he sat up, he saw warm and watery blue-gray eyes and Merri’s kind smile. She patted his shoulder and that warm and spicy-woodsy smell wafted through the air. A gentle breeze floated through an open window, and even though Sam couldn’t actually see it, he could _feel_ that tiny little gust of wind pick up the first layer of pain from the middle of his back and carry it to a place where he’d never have to feel it again.

After Merri walked away to the other side of the screen, Sam tossed his towel in a wicker basket, pulled on his clothing, stepped into his shoes, and made his way into the main space of the cottage.

Merri was standing there with a small glass pot in her hands. “Morning and night, when it hurts, rub this salve at the source. The pain will probably never _completely_ go away, but this will help.”

Sam took the glass pot in his hand. “Thank you,” he told her with a smile, wishing there was some other way for him to show Merri what she did for him. He handed her some folded money, she took half and handed the rest back to him, gently tutting him when he insisted she take all of it.

“I have another opening: week from tomorrow. That pinched nerve in your shoulder isn’t going to fix itself.” Just as Sam opened his mouth to explain that he had no idea where he would be the next week, Merri understood. “You’re up with the sun. Come when you can, before eight, and I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Sam goes to see Merri every week, sometimes on Thursdays and sometimes Mondays. It took just one more visit to Merri’s little cottage for Sam to realize that she looked a little bit like Gertrude Case from that ghost ship job back in 2007 in Sea Pines, Massachusetts. Thankfully Merri is a little less grabby than Gertrude. However, Merri’s wife, Libby, she’s another story.

Just like Merri, Libby is on in years, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the mouth that would make even Dean blush. The first time, Merri just rolled her eyes and gave Sam a look that he knew meant, _It’s been too many years. I don’t even try to stop her anymore._

Because Sam knew he'd made same look in reference to Dean more times than he could ever count, Sam laughed at Merri’s look and sat down in the white wicker chair that he was led to.

Libby handed him a tiny white china plate, decorated with pink roses, piled high with crust-less, white bread cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches. Sam still thinks they’re one of the most delicious things he’s ever had, but he’s always know for a fact Merri and Libby’s home would be the only place he’d ever get to eat them. Dean would give him so much shit.

The three of them drank their sweet tea in silence, while Libby kept stacking the little finger sandwiches on his plate. Sam lost count as to how many he’d eaten, and just as he put the last tiny little sandwich in his mouth, his phone vibrated.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, and the two women nodded.

It was a text message from Dean, telling him he’d found a case, and when Sam looked up to Libby and Merri, they both knew. Libby already had a wax paper bag filled with another dozen tiny sandwiches, and Merri gathered another pot of the woodsy-scented salve.

“See you next week,” Merri’s words weren’t a question. “Wednesday this time, I think.”

-

The next Wednesday, Sam was there bright and early before 8AM. Merri already had a bottle of oil in her hands, and Libby was standing at the kitchen counter piecing together more of those cucumber sandwiches.

The invisible scar on the middle of Sam’s back still can’t be seen, but it doesn’t ache as much as it once did. Merri’s salve helps, and each time he climbs up on that rickety little table, that same gentle breeze takes a layer of pain away from Sam and carries it to a place where he’ll never have to feel it again. Maybe someday that little gust of wind will take it all away.


End file.
